I awoke this morning to find an envelope glued to my windshield. Literally. Someone took the time to write a letter, stick it in an envelope, place glue on one side of it, and attach it to my windshield. No placing it behind my windshield wiper, no using a simple 1 inch square of Scotch tape, just glue. Plain old Elmer’s glue. The letter read:


Dear Jerk,

I am sick and tired of your cat jumping on my poor son Jeffrey’s head. Every day he comes home from school, your stupid ass cat jumps on my child’s head. I get phone calls from teachers ALL THE TIME, worried that he’s being mistreated at home. His beautiful curly hair is too thick for him to wear any kind of head piece and I’m not about to let him wear a bandana. He already gets picked on and lord knows the gangster children will have a field day if he shows up looking like one of them. Please keep your stupid ass cat inside. Or at least put a leash on him if he goes outside. My husband and I can no longer afford any more Band-Aids nor can we pick up Jeffrey from school (he still has quite a lot of baby fat and we’d like him to lose a little weight). See to it that this gets done IMMEDIATELY or I will call the authorities. GOOD DAY!


Best Wishes & Warm Regards,



Muffins is a wonderful cat and hardly ever causes any trouble. For the most part he just lounges around on Grandma’s front porch, occasionally looking up at the Sun to see what time it is. I doubted Nancy’s claims that Muffins would cause such a problem for Jeffrey so I decided to do a little detective work. I retrieved Grandma’s old VHS video recorder from the basement and attached it to the roof of her house, next to the chimney. The first few days of filming were rather uneventful. I caught Ms. Gunther stealing some of my grandmother’s mail on Monday. On Tuesday I was shocked to see Ryan Herbit (a young teenage boy who lives a few blocks away) dressed in drag singing “Waiting for Tonight” in the middle of the street. But on Wednesday, I captured exactly what I was looking for. Shortly after 3 o’clock a small, quite chubby, boy with an incredibly large afro came into view. He appeared to be eating an ice cream cone in one hand and in the other, a small collection of books. As he approached my grandmother’s house, there, high in the tree, I could make out what appeared to be Muffins. With each small step the plump boy took, Muffins seemed to nestle further into the branches, like a spring being coiled. And then, like a rattlesnake biting an unsuspecting hiker, it happened. With the ferociousness of a lion lunging towards a gazelle, Muffins jumped from his treetop perch, aiming directly at whom I assume was poor Jeffrey. The young boy’s eyes never left the soft contours of his frozen treat. The idea of an impending attack from above had no home in the mind of young Jeffrey. Foreign, were the thoughts and fears of razor sharp claws tearing the doughy flesh of his forehead that afternoon. What seemed like an eternity on film, had only happened a few seconds in real life. Muffins, with great precision, landed on the exact middle section of Jeffrey’s head. A look of shear pain replaced the once content smile on the young child’s face. Books and papers ascended into the air like the seeds of a dandelion when blown. His ice cream cone squished between the meaty little digits of his hand, falling to the ground, never to be enjoyed again. As soon as Muffins made his dramatic landing, he leaped once again. This time high into the air. The soft, thick cushion of young Jeffrey’s hair catapulted Muffins almost higher than the trees. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. By this time Jeffrey was in a state of shock, lying quietly on the sidewalk, books and paper scattered all around. Muffins appeared to be making his descent from the clouds and there, imprisoned behind the teeth of Muffins’ jaws I saw it. I could distinguish the small profile of a bird’s head and wings jutting out of the mouth of the world’s most adorable cat. Muffins had apparently used the large, cushiony hair of young Jeffrey to propel him into the air, not out of pure hatred, but more so as a tool in order to capture a bird that had been flying by. Shocked by my new discovery, I made a VHS copy and placed it in a box along with a letter of apology to Nancy. I made sure Jeffrey took it home to her the following day as he walked by my grandmother’s house. I assume it will be on Youtube any day now.


Tiny Wings (iTunes link) is yet another fun-filled game involving birds and forward motion. You play as a small bird with shitty wings that lives in a psychedelic world of rolling hills. Due to your lack of truly epic wings like all the other birds have, it’s your job to use the surrounding hills in order for you to reach the sky. Along the way you can collect coins and blue power-ups that propel you high into the air. Unfortunately, the night hates you and is closely following your every move, just waiting for the moment to pounce on you and make you go to bed. I’ve only been able to get to the 6th world so far but this game is HIGHLY addictive. Once you get the rhythm down of how to control the little bird you’ll grimace with your entire body when you see that night time is right behind you. It’s one of those games that makes you physically convulse when it’s game over so I recommend you play it in the comfort of your home, alone. For quick, easy fun, I suggest you pick this little gem up NOW!


AppAttack :-D






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